Future Perfect
by GeneHuntress
Summary: Set after the end of LOM. Gene is still firmly stuck in 1973, 'aving 'oops. So how come he's enjoying vivid dreams about a certain female DI?
1. Chapter 1

I'm not really sure where this one came from but it kept nagging at me till I got it written, so here goes! I've tried to check quotes and references but if the odd inconsistency creeps in, I'm sure you'll be kind and overlook it.

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**Future Perfect**

**Chapter 1**

"You never talk about Mrs Hunt, do you? The ex Mrs Hunt."

"That's right. I don't."

Gene's eyelids flickered open, and for a second or two he felt completely disorientated. It was very dark, and all he could hear was the ticking of a clock and the regular breathing of another human being close by. As his eyes adjusted he could make out the familiar shape of the wardrobe and the chest of drawers, and realised he was in his own bed and the missus was sleeping peacefully beside him. Where else would he be in the middle of the night after all, unless he was on a stakeout?

He lay there for a while with his hands behind his head, contemplating the dream. That was the third time this week, and the pictures in his head seemed to be getting more detailed each time. Not that he was complaining, mind: she might be irritating but she was one hell of a looker.

This time they'd been chasing after some criminal scum in a sleek red car, all clean lines and latent power. He had no idea what make it was, he'd never seen one like it before, but he'd adored driving it: one gentle touch on the accelerator and it went like shit off a shovel. Everything in the dreams seemed so much bigger or brighter than in reality: the clothes, the cars, the buildings, even CID. He didn't know where it was or when it was, but it certainly wasn't Manchester in 1973.

And then there was her. Apparently she was his DI, a posh, mouthy tart that he'd nicknamed Bolly-Kecks, but she was a lot tougher than she looked and she knew how to handle a gun.

"You. In leather. Holdin' that. Gives me the 'orn."

And God knows she had. He'd woken up with a healthy erection and if it hadn't been the middle of the night he'd have probably tried it on with Her Indoors. Their sex life had dwindled a bit in the last few years, but if he kept having repeats of these dreams he suspected things might change: she was still an attractive woman after all, and any port in a storm.

He drifted off again, half hoping he might have another steamy encounter with his mysterious DI before the morning.

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Gene looked around him, blinking hard as he tried to adjust to the scene. He was standing on the deck of an impressively big boat with a glass of champagne in one hand and a cigar in the other. Clearly there was some kind of a party in progress: the music was too loud, he didn't recognise any of it, and there were way too many people for his liking.

He reached up to tentatively touch his Stetson and then glanced down at his general attire. Seemingly he was doing a credible Clint Eastwood impression. Fancy dress, then. She was there too, the gorgeous Lady Bols, in a tight black strapless outfit which could quite possibly be illegal in several countries. She was dancing with DS Carling, or rather fighting him off, and Gene felt a definite twitch in his groin as he watched her gyrations. Ray appeared to be doubling as a waiter, which confused him slightly, but he just put it down to one of those inexplicable events that happen in dreams.

The scene blurred and he suddenly found himself in a candle-lit trattoria. A small balding man with a moustache, clearly Italian, was behind the bar cleaning glasses and humming under his breath. Over his shoulder, Ray and Chris were seated at a table with a crowd of people he didn't recognise, and perched next to him on a bar stool was Bolly-Kecks herself. He knew she was actually called Alex but he quite liked all his little variations on the original nickname he'd given her, it made him feel less inferior somehow. She was a determined pair of stockings and he had to keep reasserting his authority every five minutes, but he had to admit she kept him on his toes and she was very easy on the eye.

"What would you do, Gene? Last few seconds on earth, anything you want. Right now …"

She was clearly drunk and he knew he was too, but her eyes were sultry and heavy-lidded, and when her gaze flicked down to his lips he just wanted to jump her there and then. Instead, his dream self behaved like the perfect gentleman and took himself off home, leaving her to go to bed. Alone. What on earth was wrong with his subconscious, he wondered?

He woke up in a sweat with a hard on he could hang a towel off, and realised the wife was still awake, eagerly devouring one of her romance novels. She had her back to him, and he shifted his weight across the bed to spoon her, his erection pressing against her behind as he began to nibble on that sensitive spot behind her ear. One hand moved up to squeeze a breast and she batted it away half-heartedly.

"Gerroff, I'm readin'. What's got into yer? It's not Saturday night, yer know."

He replaced his hand, nibbling her earlobe.

"I was dreamin' about yer. Wan' the real thing …"

He knew he was in luck when she sighed and rolled onto her back and he wasted no more time, his lips capturing hers as his hand moved slowly up her thigh and a teasing finger reached its target, rubbing gently. She moaned softly as his other hand swiftly dealt with the buttons on her nightie and freed a breast, his mouth moving lower to suck on a nipple. She'd always enjoyed his amorous attentions and he didn't really know why he hadn't initiated sex more often recently, but he decided it was definitely time things changed.

As he slid into her gratefully, his concentration slipped for a second.

"Mmmm … Bols …"

"What?"

His lust-addled brain went into overdrive.

"Sorry, love. Aching balls. It's been a while …"

Later, after she shuddered into orgasm and he finally spilled into her with a grunt, he breathed a sigh of relief. He'd been lucky to get away with that one, he'd have to be more careful in future.

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Hope you think the idea was worth pursuing – all reviews gratefully received, as ever!  
>There will be more …<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

Ta muchly for all the kind reviews - always appreciated, but even more so when you're trying something a bit out of the comfort zone.  
>Mrs Hunt is pretty much my creation, as we find out so little about her in LOM, or about their relationship. Young Diana Dors, maybe? (Thanks, Fen!)<p>

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**Chapter 2**

Gene Hunt had never been renowned as the epitome of sartorial elegance, so to find himself fantasising about a sharper suit, a long black coat and a pair of crocodile skin boots was a little worrying to say the least. That, and a strange desire to grow his hair longer.

"Right. Let's fire up the Cortina …"

Ray and Chris looked at each other in confusion, and Sam raised an enquiring eyebrow.

"Come again, Guv?"

"Nothin'. Time to go and catch some scum, boys."

He knew Sam had spotted a change in him the last month or so, he could hardly fail to when his dinosaur of a DCI had actually used the words 'evidence' and 'psychology' more than once. He said very little though, presumably just assuming that his 'Hyde ways' were finally beginning to rub off and allowing himself the occasional smirk when he thought Gene wasn't looking.

Ray and Chris had noticed a marked difference in one particular aspect of his behaviour also, and hadn't hesitated to comment on it.

"Leavin' so soon, Guv? You on a promise again? She must be after a new kitchen or somethin'."

Ray winked at Chris as Gene stood and picked up his coat.

"She just appreciates me legendary prowess in the bedroom, lads, as yer know. Right, duty calls."

"He's worried there's another bloke, that's what it is."

He overheard Carling's parting remark as he was leaving the pub and gritted his teeth. He could hardly tell them the truth, could he? That he was overcome with lust for a fantasy female DI in a red satin bra, and his wife was the outlet for all his pent up frustration.

"Gene."

"I know …"

He groaned. Dammit, now he'd have to drive home almost bent double. Again.

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Gene had never had any trouble attracting women. His macho swagger, his height and his blond good looks caught their attention first, his cocky charm drew them in, and before they knew it they were under his spell. Resistance was ultimately futile, and the back seat of his car had seen plenty of action by the time he met Cynthia.

She was different, though. He knew she fancied him but she had a will of iron: it was weeks before she even allowed him 'inside upstairs', and she refused point blank to sleep with him until they were engaged. By the time he was thirty he'd made DI, got married and acquired a mortgage, and he was reasonably contented with his lot. He and the missus rubbed along well enough together: she was attractive, she could rustle up a mean roast dinner, and she wasn't lacking in enthusiasm between the sheets now she'd finally got that ring on her finger.

He had to admit he was far from a saint, he hadn't always stayed faithful but did any man once they'd been married for a while? He worked long hours to provide for her and she was often fast asleep by the time he got home. He had needs, after all, and he soon discovered there were plenty of women who were more than happy to attend to them. Seemed some plonks had a thing about Alpha males in positions of authority. No doubt it helped that he was well endowed and he knew how to show a lady a good time: they all came back for seconds, so he knew he must be doing something right.

Which rather begged the question, what the hell was he doing with a copy of the Kama Sutra hidden in his desk drawer?

"Never trust a man who owns a sex guide. There are some things yer should know how ter do without readin' a manual."

He turned the illustration upside down and squinted at it, scratching his head. He wasn't entirely sure he could actually get into that position, and if he did manage it he probably wouldn't be able to move without pulling something.  
>He sat back with his feet crossed at the ankle and lit a cigarette, taking a deep drag. Why on earth was he worrying about pleasing some figment of his imagination, for God's sake? It made no sense, and yet he had the strongest feeling that they actually knew one another, or at least they would. Logically he knew it had to be bollocks, but he couldn't shake the conviction. He closed his eyes for a couple of seconds.<p>

"Blimey, if that skirt was hitched any higher I could see what yer had fer breakfast."

There she was in his mind's-eye again, looking unbelievably shaggable. He sighed, throwing the book back in the drawer and locking it before spotting a doodle from earlier which he didn't remember doing. Alex Drake, all curly perm and big tits, was bent over his desk while he took her vigorously from behind. He pouted, running his fingers through his hair, his body responding instantly. Seemed like the present Mrs Hunt was in for another good seeing to later.

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When he got home that evening, she was in the kitchen listening to the radio while she peeled the potatoes for dinner. She had her hair pinned up and he crept up behind her, kissing the back of her neck while his hands slid up her body to cup her breasts, squeezing gently.

"Gene! Stop it, the neighbours might see."

He spun her round and made short work of the buttons on her blouse, bending his head to nuzzle at a nipple through her bra, then he paused for a second as if in thought.

"Hmmm. Her next door has a bit of a thing fer me. Maybe I should give her a good sortin' first?"

"Don't you even think about it, Eugene Hunt. Yer know I'm not a forgivin' woman."

She pulled his head back down to her breast, and he smirked triumphantly against her skin. One hand crept slowly up her nylon-clad thigh, and then he cursed quietly.

"Bloody tights. Yer might as well be wearin' a chastity belt, woman. I'll get yer some silk stockings, they really give me the 'orn."

She giggled as he dragged the nylons unceremoniously down her legs, not caring if he laddered them.

"Christ, Gene. If yer get the 'orn any more often I doubt I'll be able ter walk straight …"

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Lucky old Cynthia's having all the fun at the moment, but I suspect a certain female DI may well make an appearance at some point …  
>Hope you're still enjoying, I'd love to hear from you. :)<p> 


	3. Chapter 3

I've been writing like a demon to try and get this fic finished before I go away for a few days, hence the quicker updating than normal!  
>Everybody's been so kind with the reviews I didn't want to keep you all waiting till next week, so here's chapter 3. The fourth and final chapter should be done in the next couple of days, all being well.<p>

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**Chapter 3**

"DCI Hunt. What can I get you?"

"Whiskey please, Nelson."

Gene pouted, deep in thought, waiting patiently for his drink, and Nelson raised a quizzical eyebrow, noticing he seemed somewhat distracted.

"Something on your mind, Mon Brave?"

He pushed the glass across the bar and Gene took a deep breath, wondering how much to reveal.

"D'yer think it's possible to see into the future, Nelson? And is everythin' that's goin' ter happen just down ter fate, or can it be changed?" He shook his head as if to clear it. If he carried on like this his brain was likely to explode. "Just ignore me, pal, I'm talkin' a load of old cobblers."

Nelson leaned forwards and spoke quietly, dropping the fake Jamaican accent that he used in front of most customers.

"In this life, here, it seems ter me all things are possible, my friend. Past, present, future … they all co-exist. And some people's heads hold a lot more than they know, particularly yours."

He gave Gene a significant look, and moved away to serve someone else. Gene took a seat on his own in the corner, he didn't feel like being sociable today, too much going on in his mind.

He was even more confused now. What had Nelson meant about heads holding more than they know? And why his in particular? There was something lurking at the edge of his consciousness, he felt as though he was missing something important but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. He racked his brains, trying to grope his way towards whatever it was, but with no success: it was like tuning in a radio and not quite managing to find the station.  
>What a load of rubbish, he thought. He was an uncomplicated man with straightforward needs, it was just a dream, and that was all there was to it. Any more of this spooky-dooky bollocks and he was in danger of turning into her, Madam Fruitcake.<p>

He took a good mouthful of whiskey and rested his eyes for a couple of seconds, relishing the burn at the back of his throat. What with the dreams disturbing his sleep and all the shagging he'd been doing recently he was pretty much running on empty. He craved a restful night's kip above just about anything else at this precise moment.

"I'll let you stamp my bum."

"I'll get me coat."

He rubbed a hand over his eyes. Why was this bloody woman always in his head?

"Now then, Bollinger-Knickers, yer gonna kiss me or punch me?"

He could feel the fullness of her breast under his hand.

"So I'm not a hooker. But if I was, do you know something, Gene? You could never, ever afford me …"

She was virtually nose to nose with him and he'd never been more pissed off or more turned on in his life.

He sighed, opening his eyes. So much for getting some decent kip. Downing the rest of his drink in one, he picked up his coat and raised a hand to Nelson in farewell. As he left, Chris, Ray and Phyllis all looked at one another knowingly. Phyllis was the first to speak.

"He's got another bird, it's the only explanation." She tapped her forehead with two fingers, a lighted cigarette still gripped firmly between them. "Female intuition."

If Gene had overheard her, he'd have been tempted to pat her on the back. She'd pretty much hit the nail on the head, after all.

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"Gene, what's this all about? You havin' a mid-life crisis? Feelin' the need to prove somethin'? Not that I mind so much, I've been walkin' around with a big smile on me face fer the last few weeks, but at this rate I'll be reduced ter crawlin' soon."

They were lying in bed together sharing a much-needed cigarette after he'd arrived home early and ravished her for the fifth night in succession. He thought fast.

"Dunno, luv. 'Ave yer changed yer perfume recently or put some powdered rhino 'orn in me dinner?"

She snorted, digging him in the ribs with her elbow.

"Neither. But I am thinkin' of gettin' hold of some bromide."

He chuckled, stubbing the fag out in the ashtray.

"Maybe it's the thought of turnin' forty soon, it's given me libido a much needed kick up the arse. I'm worried yer might leave me fer a younger man."

He winked at her and she raised an eyebrow at him.

"If you carry on like this I'll be lookin' fer an older man, preferably one that can't get it up. Maybe then I'll get some peace of a night."

She squealed as he rolled on top of her and pinned her down on the mattress.

"Now yer know yer don't mean that. Yer can't get enough of me, woman, never could."

She struggled as his hands began to roam freely over her body, his teeth nipping at her throat.

"Gene Hunt, get yer 'ands off me. Yer can't possibly be capable of doin' it again so soon at your age."

He flashed her an evil grin.

"Now yer in big trouble, luv. Yer know I always rise to a challenge …"

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Gene was sat at his desk eating a meat pie and grumbling to himself. What was wrong with him? Suddenly all he wanted was a pizza and some house rubbish. He didn't even drink wine normally, wine was for the ladies and the limp-wristed brigade. Even bloody Tyler didn't usually drink vino, for all his poncy ways. A vision of Sam the day they met sprang into his head.

"Surprise me. What year is this supposed to be?"

There it was again, that feeling nagging at him, like he'd forgotten something vital. It was starting to really annoy him now.

"Sam Tyler is from the future …"

That whole situation had been particularly weird even for Sam, acting like he knew the man, knew what would happen if Eve stayed with him. But Tony Crane was insane, wasn't he? They'd had him banged up for it, after all. Still, there was something strangely unsettling about Sam, he had to admit, even though he'd come to like and respect him. They'd all put it down to concussion when he first arrived, but it was more than that. Like he was a man out of his time, somehow.

He did seem to be very settled now though, with the job and with Annie. He wouldn't be surprised to hear the sound of wedding bells in the near future, and good luck to them both, they were made for each other.

He shrugged, forcing the rest of the pie down. It was just these dreams, getting him all worked up over nothing. If he did ever get to meet this Alex Drake he'd give her a piece of his mind. And a seeing to she'd never forget.

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"I go where I'm needed, Bols."

A series of scenes ran through his dream like a film: a little girl with a red balloon, Alex taking a breath just as he was about to give her the kiss of life, carrying her into CID dressed as a prostitute. Alex smiling at him fondly over dinner, him tucking a blanket round her sleeping body, nuzzling into her hair as she swayed gently in his arms.

"I thought I'd lost you, Guv."

Never, he thought. I won't let that happen.

Feeling his heart shatter into tiny pieces when she kissed him softly on the lips, the tears chasing one another down her cheeks as she walked away from him and didn't look back …

"Alex!"

He sat bolt upright in bed and Cynthia rolled towards him, still drugged with sleep.

"Shhh luv, just a bad dream …"

His heart was pounding but not with excitement this time. He couldn't lose her. Not before he'd even found her, for God's sake.

"Gene, who's Alex?"

"What?"

"Yer shouted 'Alex'"

He thought quickly, even though he was still dazed.

"Victim in a case we've been dealin' with. Messy business. Some of 'em get ter yer more than others, yer know how it is."

She sat up and wrapped her arms round him and he felt a twinge of guilt. It wasn't like he'd actually been unfaithful or anything though, was it?

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That was the last time he dreamt about her, and slowly but surely everything began to get back to normal. He spent more time at work or in the pub, his libido calmed down somewhat, Sam and Annie announced their engagement and the department carried on clearing the streets of scum.

And as the months went by the dreams began to fade, and the woman in the tight jeans and the leather jacket who had turned his life upside down for a while became a distant memory.

Life was about the here and now, he realised. No point thinking too far ahead, let the future take care of itself …

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I haven't had a good cliff-hanger for a while. Although you've probably got some idea where this is headed …  
>Hope you're still enjoying, all reviews much appreciated. If you're very kind, I'll try and get the final instalment up by tomorrow night! Promise. :)<p> 


	4. Chapter 4

Big thanks to everyone who's taken the time to read and review, it really is appreciated. This one could have gone in several different directions but this was the ending I'd originally planned, so I've decided to stick with it.

Hope you enjoy …

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**Chapter 4**

On the first day they met he had the glimmer of a memory, some inkling at the back of his mind that he knew her from somewhere. Not when she fainted at his feet, not when he dragged her out of the path of an oncoming car, but when he picked her up and carried her into CID. There was something achingly familiar about it, about her, and in a blinding flash he saw the disturbingly white face of a clown, a red balloon starkly outlined against a blue sky and a little girl in a school uniform clinging to his hand.

He knew from the moment he retrieved her warrant card from the floor that she was going to be trouble with a capital 'T', and how right he was. She annoyed him, irritated him, frustrated him beyond belief from the start. He hated the way she waggled her fingers when she said his name, her certainty that she was always right, the way she ignored his orders and went off on her own, regardless. And more than anything he hated the endless bloody psychiatry bollocks she spouted. He could picture her, the clenched fists and the eye-roll, as she hissed at him through her teeth.

"It's psychology!"

"Same bloody thing …"

She was a thorn in his side on a daily basis, made him want to bang his head against the nearest wall. And he wanted her more than he'd ever wanted any other woman. When she stood in his office, all flashing eyes and indignation, he wanted her. When she was swaying drunkenly on a bar stool, looking lost and vulnerable, he wanted her. And when she was wearing leather and brandishing a gun, God, he wanted her.

"You're taller than I imagined."

"I'm bigger in every department."

It was certainly true at the moment with Sergeant Rock standing to attention every time she walked into a room. He found himself hiding behind his desk whenever she was around: it was bloody uncomfortable and highly inconvenient, and he knew something would have to give soon. He was only human, after all.

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There was something in the air, a heightened tension between them lately, like they both knew where their relationship was heading but neither of them wanted to admit it. He'd had to watch her blatent attempts to flirt with Danny Moore, and he hadn't liked it one bit. He breathed a secret sigh of relief when she arrived back at CID later that same night and he realised she hadn't slept with him.

When the bomb went off on the day of the Royal Wedding, his only thought was to get to her, make sure she was safe. He'd felt her hands shaking as she clung on to his, and thanked his lucky stars she was OK. He was slowly learning to trust her judgement now, and even though she still challenged him at every opportunity, he secretly admired her courage and her single-minded determination.

She was in a funny mood from the start that particular morning, though.

"What's up with you today?"

"Just because I'm stuck here doesn't mean I have to pretend to like it."

He shrugged. Must have the decorators in again.

"Fine. Leave yer to it then, Sulky-Knickers."

She wanted to do the interview with Nina on her own, didn't think the girl would 'open up' with him in the room. He had to get a little sexual innuendo in as a retort, it made him feel better.

"Plenty of women have opened up to me without so much as a shandy down their necks."

He did try very hard not to gloat when she failed, despite all her fancy training, but if he allowed himself a little smirk who could really blame him?

Then events took a very peculiar turn: maybe it was her way of getting back at him, he couldn't be sure. There was no doubt he was out of order for what he'd said but the bloody woman was enough to try the patience of a saint. And then to punch him squarely in the jaw like that, as if a slap across the face hadn't been enough. He was still reeling from the force of it. And he had a hard-on that he couldn't beat down with a big stick.

Some instinct made him hold back from drinking too much, and he managed to prevent her from getting completely pissed also. As the evening progressed and they became nicely mellow he began to get a strange sense of deja vu, and when he admitted to her that he sometimes felt lonely he knew exactly what was coming next. He also knew, had somehow known for the last eight years, what his answer would be.

"What would you do, Gene? Last few seconds on earth, anything you want. Right now …"

"Anything?"

"Anything."

"Right now?"

She nodded, her sultry gaze dropping to his pouting lips before she met his eyes again, looking at him seductively from under lowered lashes. She was so close her perfume was filling his nostrils and making his head spin, even more effectively than a punch in the gob. He leant in even closer to whisper in her ear.

"I'd drag yer upstairs, throw yer on the bed and give yer the best seein' to of yer life. Trust me, Bols, yer'll be beggin' fer more."

Her eyes widened in surprise, but he saw the flash of desire there before she leaned in to whisper back, her breath warm on his neck.

"Get your coat, Hunt, you've pulled. But I should warn you, it takes a lot to make me beg."

He grinned wickedly. He knew now it was possible to change the future.

"Oh, I think yer'll find there's more than enough, luv."

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And he was right, she did find herself begging. For him not to stop, to do it again, oh God please, that thing that made her clutch the sheets and cry out his name. He drove her to the heights of ecstasy, watching her in awe as he moved inside her and she writhed underneath him, pleading for sweet release. And finally, as dawn approached, he begged also. To be allowed to get some well-earned rest …  
>He dreamt of her then for the first time in years, reliving the expression of exquisite pleasure on her face when he made her come, delighting in her little sighs and moans of bliss. When he woke, moving up onto an elbow to gaze down into her lovely face, he knew something deep within him had shifted. And whatever happened, whatever the consequences, he was never going to lose her again.<p>

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I know, I know. Soppy old romantic at heart. "Hormones. It's always hormones." Yes, thank you for that, Christopher …  
>Dedicated to my very good friend East of Fenchurch, who'd have killed me if I didn't give her a decent Galex ending. Phew. *Mops brow*. GH lives to fight another day! ;)<br>Hope you enjoyed, please let me know or the Gene Genie will come round your house and … well, you know the rest!


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